Featured Poems

They call it the nectar of the gods

"The substance secreted from the pineal gland during profoundly deep meditative states is known under various names in different traditions. Ambrosia, Nectar of the Gods, White Drop or Amrita—as ‘elixir of immortality’. This nectar, produced by the reactivation of the gland (through initiation, inner awakening or shaktipat), drips down the throat and into the heart center." —Igor Kufayev

Nestled in on the Neskowin coast, I’ve been here for eighteen hoursstaying at Jesus’s cousin’s friend’s family’svacation cottage.

There’s an old swing outbackmade from a car bench seat. I curl up on it and watch the grasses swayuntil he comes to sit next to me.

His eyes I’m looking at are newfrom three weeks ago, but I’m sureI know Jesus since some other life.

Here in this one we walk down the beach to Proposal Rock sharing irises of saphire sky and hints of wave water sparkle.

When we leave it’s nearly sun down. I smoke a bowl sticky with resin.

He drives an Alero, white and long. We crawl through sleepy streets, maybe in circles.

In a yard babies shoutwhile a sprinkler glints in the golden sunsoup—we all simmer.

Water drops fall on ourwindshield and time swellsfor just that block.

From the front seat of his Olds I watchthe place behind my eyes get juicyand a gush of ecstasy tricklesdown my throat.

They call it the nectar of the godshe says, his lightning boltsbrushing my thigh.

I’m quiet with Jesus(and these babies I never know). Enshrined in millenia-long sun-showers, I open my eye.